Page 53 of Anathema

“I’d say so. We should make it just before nightfall.”

The two set off down to the foot of the hill, where the dying grass met the foot-high deep, murky water. A white vapor hovered over the pygwog lilies gathered at the surface, while the stench of Aethyr and decaying foliage mingled with a foul odor that reminded Zevander of the sewers in The Hovel.

With the first step, his leather boots sank to his calf. Thankfully, caligosian leather didn’t leak so much as a drop—although, it did have a tendency to shrink a bit when wet, squeezing his foot with each step.

“Well, this is going to be a fun nine furlongs.” Kazhimyr’s comment had Zevander smirking, as he trudged forward, the water climbing higher. “I hope you plan to make this one suffer.”

Zevander exhaled a sigh, reminded that he hadn’t yet clued in his fellow assassin. “We won’t be killing this one.”

“Pardon? Hard to hear over the sound of shit water splashing around me. It almost sounded like you said we’re not killing him.”

Zevander offered no more than a glance over his shoulder, catching sight of Kazhimyr tottering ungracefully in the soft muck. “I’m taking him to the dungeons of Eidolon.”

“But the king has ordered his execution. That is how we get paid. That is how we keep from having our own heads severed.”

“Yes, it’s how we get paid. Indebted to a king for a crime we never committed.”

“And how is sparing this mage going to change that?”

“He possesses the blood stones for the septomir.” The knee-deep water slowed their pace, as the muck thickened, swallowing Zevander’s boot with each step.

“The blood stones? The ones that are quite illegal to collect because they require a magic that is entirely forbidden by Imperial Law?”

“Those are the ones.” Zevander’s boot sank into a soft pit, and he hooked his hands beneath his knee to lift it from the suctioning soil. “He can break this wretched curse. The stones are far more powerful than the flame.”

“Which will be fantastic, until the king finds out, and we’re executed. And what about bringing him back to the very castle where you placed a ward to keep everyone out? Do you trust this rogue mage, known to be mad, I might add, around your sister?”

It was a question he’d pondered the whole ride to Corvus Keep. Zevander had made a point to keep his sister protected, his home guarded, but he’d be damned if he’d let the mage get off so easily, without having fulfilled his end of their bargain. “He’ll reside in the dungeons. I’ll shackle him with copper.” The only element known to weaken a mage. “He’s relatively harmless, but he’ll be useless after.”

“Harmless … pfft. He was a member of the Magestroli. The king’s most powerful.”

“Shhhh.” Zevander came to an abrupt halt, ears perked, picking up on the faint sound of water moving. The moment he threw back his cape and reached for the sword at his back, swinging wide, a black serpent struck out of the water, fangs bared. Its fiery tongue merely kissed his cheek, before the blade struck its flesh, slicing through as easily as if its bones were liquid.

The upper half of the serpent fell into the bog, splashing the rotten concoction of blood and muck in his face. Wiping it away, he twisted around to find Kazhimyr sinking into the water that now reached his thighs. His hips.

Quicksand.

“Fuck!” Kazhimyr teetered and rocked in place, arms flailing, as the muck pulled him deeper. To his waist. His chest.

Zevander reached for his outstretched hand before the Letalisz could slip completely beneath the water. Forcing all of his strength into the toil, muscles shaking, he yanked Kazhimyr’s arm with such violence, the other Letalisz shot up out of the water on a gasp.

Bending forward, he coughed, spitting murky swamp water out of his mouth.

He glanced up. “Behind you!”

Zevander swung around, sword still at the ready, as two Carnificans snarled and hopped their way through the water, toward them. The easy way they traversed over the bog indicated they’d hunted those grounds regularly.

Eyes blood red, wrinkled and weathered skin a pale white, with a flat nose, and lips that appeared to have been chewed away to expose pointed teeth—it was hard to believe they were once normal citizens going about their day. Any semblance of their former selves lay hidden beneath a mask of savagery.

Zevander raised his palm, mentally drawing the Aeryz glyph, and thrust his hand forward. A blast of air sent the Carnificans sailing backward, splashing into the muck. Two more advanced, but before Zevander had the chance to swing his sword, the scorpions etched into his flesh rose up in a black smoke, taking form as colossal-sized beasts. On the strike of the scorpion’s stinger, one of the Carnificans reached out, grasping the thin, metallic tip of the stinger in his palm.

“’The fuck?” Zevander had never seen such a thing.

The Carnifican crushed it, sending the scorpion into a trembling, hissing fit, and it thrashed its tail, striking another Carnifican, who exploded on impact. The second scorpion struck, hitting the first Carnifican in the neck. He let out a high-pitched screech, one that Zevander silenced with a swing of his blade.

At a roar from behind, Zevander turned to see white smoke drifting upward from Kazhimyr’s palm, his eyes an icy blue. He directed the mist toward the three approaching Carnificans, and all three of them skidded to a halt. Frozen. Skinny rivulets of red scattered beneath their skin as their veins lysed. Their flesh split open, tearing their bodies into small pieces that fell with a splash in the water.

The scorpion with the crushed stinger curled into black smoke, and from it emerged a new scorpion, its stinger glinting before driving through the abdomen of an oncoming Carnifican.

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